


Bruises

by paradoxals5



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Rouge Nation
Genre: Bruises, Cuddles, Domestic, M/M, Minor Injuries, Safe For Work, Self-Harm, but not the suicide self harm, its not smut so idk what u all want from me, thats all i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradoxals5/pseuds/paradoxals5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Ethan's visits with Lane. Cuddles and pressing questions about why he's all beat up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises

     “Where did these come from?” Ethan asked, voice slightly muffled by the hand he was nuzzling his face into. He was holding the arm whose hand was caressing him, lightly streaking his fingers across deep and dark bruises.

     Lane hummed shortly, eyebrows knitting. “You'd like to know.”

     “I would,” his hands moved to the other man's torso, “but I already know.”

     Solomon tilted Hunt's head up, making him look at him more directly. His eyes flickered up and down minimally, but just enough for Ethan to be able to detect it. “Indulge me.” Lane then said.

     He smiled. “This prison is max security, there's a strict policy on prisoner fights.” He brushed across a certainly large bruise that made Solomon wince audibly, though it didn't seem to show on his face. “Especially for you.”

     “You think I'm the type to get into fights?”

     “No, but you could get this entire prison working for you, undercover, in less than your prison sentence time.” Hunt smirked lightly. “And they know that too.” Solomon didn't say anything to that, so he continued. “These are self-inflicted. You're good at controlling your anger, but everyone has their limits.” He noted Lane dropped the eye contact. “And once you’ve snapped, they just toss you into your cell and let you take it all out on yourself.” He leaned back and up against the cot behind him. “Explains this too.” He motioned toward the damaged bed frame.

     Solomon was quiet. “You're very observant.” He said finally.

     “And you're apparently stronger than you look.”

     With nothing but silence following his statement, Ethan decided to wrap his arms around Lane and pull him in close. The other man allowed this, but stiffly moved with Hunt's gentle persuasions to get him up onto his knees and into a more comfortable position. Once close enough though, he was given soft and slow kisses, starting with his neck. He suckled on his throat before moving down to kiss every contusion and bandaged area on him.

     Solomon exhaled smoothly and combed a hand up into Hunt's hair from the back of his head, grabbing a tuft of it tightly. He almost seemed to relax into the embrace, having gone peacefully silent and petting Ethan with his free hand. The moment ended rather abruptly though, his breath hitching and grip tightening when the other man's hand skimmed the large bruises on his hip. Ethan muttered an apology, and his touches became much more gentle.

     He studied each infliction on the other man's pale skin. It was warm, which was a nice change considering he was usually cold to the touch; but he also smelt of sweat, and some of the bruises Ethan softly pecked were surprisingly hot to the touch. He must have had some kind of a meltdown just prior to his arrival. It would explain why he was shaking mildly when Hunt first saw him. And while he didn't have an extensive knowledge on what may cause what injury, it was evident some of these bruises, and especially the cuts along Lane's abdomen, had suspicious shapes.

     “What do the other prisoners think of you?” He asked, stopping and studying a particular dark mark on Lane's side.

     “I could care less.” He responded, and Hunt snorted a laugh.

     “ _Have_ you gotten into any fights with them?” He brushed his thumb around the edges of another oddly shaped bruise, patting over just barely visible ribs. Solomon didn't answer that. “These look almost like finger marks—”

     The other man pulled back, locking eyes with Hunt. “If you're here to only interrogate me about pointless matters, then I'll kindly ask you to leave.”

     “Kindly?”

     “Please.”

     He couldn't help but grin. “I love the way you say that word. You sound so cute saying it.”

     Solomon looked away, inhaling carefully. “That's a poor word to use.” He grumbled.

     “Will you ask me nicely to stop using it?”

     “No.”

     Hunt pouted. “Fine.” He said, and he snaked his arms around Lane, pulling him in again.


End file.
